


Bonne Chance Chris!

by havisham



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A Poster of Victor Nikiforov, Casual Sex, Fairy Tale Curses, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mature Eros, Pining, Typos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 19:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10225541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: Christophe Giacometti truly embodies the spirit of Mature Eros -- whether he likes it or not.





	

Chris liked to think of himself as a kind, considerate person who went to considerable lengths to help other people. He was a bit like a saint, in that way. A saint for love, skating and truly magnificent asses. 

True, saying any of this aloud, even in the presence of those who claimed to be his friends, would usually result in groans, eyerolls and long-suffering sighs -- but it was all true, nonetheless. 

For example, Chris had always been happy to advise younger skaters. He was very hands-on about it too, and ready to help wherever he could. Also: proactive, because there were some people who had no idea that they needed his help in the first place. 

Take for example, Yuuri Katsuki, a Japanese skater two years Chris’ junior and who had taken bronze a day and a half ago at the Trophée de France (where Chris had, in Victor’s absence, naturally, taken gold.) 

A bit of an underutilized talent, was Yuuri. Which was a pity, but what to do about that? It was a coach’s job to bring out their athlete’s talent, and Ciao Ciao was a fairly good coach (though a middling lay) -- Yuuri should really have everything he needed to make it on the world stage. 

But more personally, Yuuri was sweet, very sweet -- but also shy, incredibly so. He'd declined Chris’ offer to go clubbing with the rest of the skaters after the banquet in favor of returning to his hotel room. An expected outcome, but the expression on his face nearly broke Chris’ heart. 

It was the face of a soul in crisis. 

As soon as Yuuri turned away and headed for the hotel lobby, Chris decided to give the club a miss too and follow Yuuri. Who did not head toward the elevator on the left as expected, but rather peeled off to the hotel bar to the right. 

He had already downed one drink by the time Chris found him at the bar. 

Intrigued, Chris slid into the seat next to Yuuri, putting his phone down on the bar in front of him. Conspiratorially, he whispered, “You know, you could drink more at the club and be less conspicuous, dear Yuuri.” 

Yuuri whipped his head around and stared at him with big, watery brown eyes. His lips were trembling. “I’m sorry -- it’s just that my dog died today --” 

Chris, aghast at what he had blundered into, threw his arm around Yuuri’s shoulder, fully expected Yuuri to push him away, politely but firmly. He had done that with virtually all of Chris’ advances, both playful and serious, for as long as they had known each other. But instead of pushing him away, Yuuri began to cry softly into Chris’ shirt, soaking the shoulder almost immediately. 

It was then Chris’ phone buzzed, and Chris reached for it, intending to shut it off when Yuuri peered down at it, his nose almost bumping into the screen. 

His glasses had disappeared when he had started crying, which was just as well. Tears were so hard to clean off the lenses. 

“Is that Victor Nikiforov texting you?” Yuuri said, his voice breathy and faintly unbelieving. 

Chris checked. It was indeed Victor, texting him some inane observation about his new costume that Chris couldn’t possibly care about, and a picture of his butt, in said costume, that Chris cared a great deal about. 

Judging from Yuuri’s expression -- slack, stunned, amazed -- he cared a lot too. The wheels in Chris’ brain began to turn. “Yuuri,” he said, “don’t waste your money down here. Come to my room, I’ve got better drinks than anything they have here.” 

The bartender, who was in earshot, glared at him and was not mollified by the charming smile Chris gave him. 

“No,” Yuuri said, straightening up. He took a deep breath and gave Chris a smile that only quavered a little bit on the edges. “Thank you, Chris, for being so nice. But I should go back to my room and pack.” 

“Oh, all right,” Chris said, feeling oddly disappointed. He hadn’t expected anything from Yuuri -- tears did nothing for his libido, _honestly_ \-- but it would have been nice to spend some time with someone who seemed to need the company. 

“I’ll see you at the Grand Prix Finale?” Yuuri said, getting up from his seat. He started to take out his wallet to pay for his drinks, but Chris was faster. 

He paid for Yuuri’s drink and ordered a double whiskey for himself. He smiled into his glass when he got it, taking the first sip, savoring it. “Of course you will. And Victor will be there too. I’ll introduce you.” 

He winked, hoping Yuuri would take his meaning. Yuuri colored deeply and nodded, scurrying away before Chris could tease him further. 

Chris sighed, his head resting on his palm. He ordered another drink. Drinking at a hotel bar, intent on seduction, was very cool and sexy. Drinking alone at a hotel bar, however, was pretty pathetic. After he had finished and paid his tab, Chris wandered over to the lobby, wondering how he should spend the rest of the night.

Maybe he could convince Victor to show off less and less of his new costume… 

His blood flowed south at the thought of that, and thus distracted, he ran into another skater -- a Canadian this time, JJ Leroy. 

Ah, JJ Leroy! How to describe such a skater? That JJ was talented was undeniable. That he was driven was unmistakable. That he was attractive was obvious. But still there was something about him that Chris, who liked almost everyone, could not bring himself to like. 

But still, one couldn't stumble into another person’s arms without speaking to them, it simply wasn't possible. So Chris said, as they detangled themselves from each other, “You didn't go to the club with the others, JJ?” 

JJ flashed him a confident, extremely toothy smile. “Wasn't asked. They were too afraid that I'd steal their groupies, which of course I would. It’s just my style.” 

“Hm,” Chris said, “is that it, I wonder?” 

JJ looked at him. “What else could it be?” 

“Your terrible personality,” Chris said, and then laughed. “Ah, you should see your face! I'm joking, of course.” 

He patted JJ’s shoulder and said, briskly, “Well, good night. I'll see you at the Grand Prix Finale.” 

Chris waved over his shoulder and went on his merry way. The bed in his hotel room was calling for him. Maybe it was a sign of his impeding dotage, but he didn't mind as much as he thought he would. 

During the elevator ride up, Chris put on some earbuds on and listened to some music. A song was still blaring in his ear when he got off on his floor. He was swiping the keycard to gain entry when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Chris turned around, ready for whatever.

Maybe Yuuri has changed his mind?

No. It was JJ, standing behind him, his hands now in his pockets. JJ stared at him and said, with all appearances of sincerity, “Do you really think I have a terrible personality?” 

“Does it matter?” Chris asked. It was an honest question. He sighed. “You’re hot enough to get away with it.” He let his eyes drift downward, thoughtfully. 

“Don’t worry about it, I turned eighteen a month ago,” JJ said, puffing up his chest a little bit. 

Chris shrugged. He hadn’t been worried in the least. 

There was a smug smile on JJ’s face, insufferable and strangely appealing. His teeth were very white, very _American_ \-- except he was, of course, Canadian.

(So, North American, then.) 

Chris tsked in disapproval. “But still -- should I call your _maman_ to come and collect you?” 

JJ’s eyes flashed and he pushed himself past Chris, into the room.

“They were right about you,” he said with a sneer and Chris followed him in, curiosity and anticipation building in his veins. 

“What did they say? The only gossip worth hearing is about yourself,” Chris said airily. 

“They say you're a slut.” 

“True.” 

“They say you'd sleep with anyone.” 

“Not everyone, but my dating pool is Olympic-sized.” 

“They say whoever sleeps with you always ends up in serious relationships with someone else.” 

“Not true. Whoever sleeps with me finds their true love. It's both a curse and a blessing -- but I enjoy it, anyway.” 

“Stop talking,” JJ said, grinning. “I want to try.” 

*

A sociologist friend of Chris’ had told him that the rates his former lovers got married or started serious long term relationships after they had had sex with him was not statistically significant. 

There were too many other factors that could not be controlled for, Sue explained earnestly, and besides, true love wasn't real. 

Chris had agree with that. “Do you want to give it a try?” he'd asked her, laughing to himself. He had expected her to say no. But Sue had surprised him by nodding seriously. 

It was for science, she said, as she awkwardly licked his ear. 

The sex had been an enjoyable enough way to spend the evening -- better than not having sex, anyway -- and they had parted for the night as friends. 

The next day, Sue had called him to say that she had met the most bewitching doctoral student in the elevator down from Chris’ apartment and was now reconsidering her feelings about true love. 

Perhaps it was because he had been born on Saint Valentine’s Day, or because he had truly been able to embody the very spirit of Mature Eros, but Chris had long ago made peace with his strange talent. 

He was free with his (very much safe) love, and rarely if ever had to make an encore performance. But there were people he did not wish to ever sleep with, and despite many years of flirtation and poorly concealed but good-natured lust, Victor Nikiforov was one such person. 

Yuuri Katsuki was another -- though not for lack of trying in that case. 

*

JJ’s confidence on the ice translated well into the bedroom. Unfortunately, his talent did not. It was lack of experience more than anything else, Chris supposed, but doing his signature pose just as he came was really too much. 

*

Almost 12 hours later, JJ Leroy’s fated meeting with the president of JJ Leroy International Fanclub, Isabella Yang, blew up on social media. 

Chris missed it, peacefully asleep on the flight back to Geneva. 

*

“What do you want, Chris?” Victor asked him at his door. His face was stark-white from the clay mask he’d put on and he was wrapped, neck to toe, in a fluffy robe. It was the night before the men’s short program at the Grand Prix Final and Chris was surprised, but happy, to find Victor alone. 

Victor looked at him critically. “If it’s money, or drugs or boys, I can’t help you.” 

“Ah, what do you think of me!” Chris exclaimed, his hand fluttering to his heart. Victor grinned back at him. 

Chris harrumphed and said, “I just want your autograph. And the brand of that face mask.” 

“It's made especially for my skin, made by an Irish sea-witch. I'll text you details later.” Then Victor gave him a long, considering look. “You won't sell this?” 

“Victor! You wound me _deeply_. I would never sell the artifacts of our epic friendship, not even to the richest, most perverted businessman.” 

“Oh, all right. Who do I make it out to?” 

*

“Don’t talk, sweet Yuuri, just chew,” said Chris gravely, handling Yuuri a stick of gum just as soon as he had opened the door.

“What?” he said, finally, letting Chris inside and closing the door behind him. 

“I’ve come to cheer you up!” Chris said, unrolling the poster he’d brought with him. It was of Victor, posing dramatically in front of a blooming cherry tree. His shirt was off, his hair was blowing in the wind (while still carefully covering a majority of his forehead) and his face was trained in a pouty but serious expression. 

On the poster Victor had written -- 

Yuuri’s face brightened up when he saw the writing on the poster, but then fell when he read it.

Chris followed his eyes and then signed. “Eh? _Best wishes Uri!_? Victor, you ignorant slut! I even texted him the correct spelling before I got there… I’m sorry, Yuuri.” 

“It’s all right, I already have this one. It would've been wonderful to have my name on it, but still, he's … so beautiful,” Yuuri said, blushing. Then he frowned. “What’s the gum for?” 

“To put up the poster so you could get off to it. Unless Ciao Ciao forbids you from mastubating before a competition?”

“Celestino thinks it’s bunk fed to the skating community by Yakov Feltsman to put the competition off their game,” Yuuri said solemnly. 

Looking down at the floor, Yuuri whispered, “I think … it doesn’t hurt.” 

Chris nodded vigorously. “I think so too. I’m always happy and relaxed afterwards, and my performance is always good. If you’d like, I could, ah, help you along?” 

He brushed away a lock of hair from Yuuri’s face and looked deeply into his eyes. 

“I don’t know,” Yuuri said, blinking. He bit his lip, looking shy. “Maybe just a bit?” 

Then Yuuri smiled at him, a devilish smile somewhat at odds with his soft demeanor, and Chris fell a little bit in love.

*

“Is he really so cold?” Yuuri wondered, looking at the poster of Victor longingly. He touched it, leaving a smudge of semen on Victor’s printed face. Chris sighed deeply and pressed a final kiss on Yuuri’s shoulder. 

Already, he was composing his speech for the wedding. He knew he would cry, although for reasons different than other people supposed. 

“No,” he said at last. “Victor is truly wonderful…” 

**Author's Note:**

> So, there was this very forgettable romcom from 2007 called _Good Luck Chuck!_ that I never watched, because I didn't like the lead. But i'll always remember the premise of the movie, which I shamelessly used here. I mean... I can barely remember my new cell phone number, but obscure romcom premises? I'm ya girl. 
> 
> Chris/JJ was inspired by [this prompt](https://yurionicekink.dreamwidth.org/881.html?thread=15985#cmt15985) at the YOI kink meme, but I didn't feel it like it was explored with enough depth to actually make a fill. A proper fill, I imagine, would include a lot of putdowns in French, though, and not all of them coming from Chris. It's a good ship, Brent. 
> 
> Thanks to Sath for the beta. Bise bise!


End file.
